


Cocoon

by OceanMelon



Series: short klance works [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Music, Getting Back Together, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Singer!Shiro, Song fic, bassist!keith, but if you could be a little less gay in public that'd be great, but it's just really just one fake-ally, drummer!allura, guitarist!matt, guitarist!shiro, normal guy!lance, songwriter!keith, the kind that's cool with you being gay, very mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:03:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanMelon/pseuds/OceanMelon
Summary: Despite how much it hurt at the time, Lance has filed away his whirlwind relationship with aspiring bass player, Keith, as just the events of one crazy summer during college. Except now Keith's band has made it big, playing at a music festival to a packed arena and, right there in the crowd, is Lance, questioning every decision that lead him to this place and the realisation of the distance between them. Because Keith is a god on stage and Lance is just a normal guy, covered in mud and other people's sweat.





	Cocoon

**Author's Note:**

> The song is ['Cocoon'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Va75GaPv5jY)  
> (obviously) by Catfish and the Bottlemen. Which... isn't even my favourite song or anything. I've just had it stuck in my head for three days and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like the kind of song Keith would write. But Keith is not a front-man and would never want to be so... songwriter/bass-player!Keith was born.

“You’re so hot!” someone yells from the crowd just as the guitar is fading through the speakers, wavering and scratching a little as it does.

Shiro gives a breathy laugh and scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks,” he says, “I’m sure you are too, whoever that came from.”

A small ripple of laughter passes through the crowd sweating it out, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, on the ripped up and muddy grass. And it’s strange because it wasn’t even that funny but, maybe, it’s like when you meet up for lunch with someone you’re irrevocably attracted to; you’re there for them, they’re the only reason you got out of bed this morning, and, frankly, at this point they could probably climb up and take a shit on the table and they’d still be fucking magical to you. 

That’s just how smitten people are with  _ Castle of Lions _ . 

“So, uh…” Shiro is saying as he bends to pick up his bottle of water from beside the mic stand, “this next song --” he takes a sip. The temperature hit 100° a couple of hours back and is still climbing. “This next song was actually written by Keith years ago.”

The crowd screams and the bassist looks up from where he’d been adjusting his effects box.

Shiro chuckles. “But he’d hidden it. I found it in a drawer while looking for printer paper. And he took some convincing to let us play it.” Shiro winks at him and Keith flips him off. The crowd laughs. “Haven’t worked out who it’s about yet… or even if it’s about anybody in particular. But… well, we’ll get it out of him eventually.”

“You need to learn to mind your own fucking business, Shiro,” says Keith, leaning forward into his own mic and the crowd laughs again. 

Shiro grins. “So, yeah, this is a new one and it’s called --” he takes one last sip before putting the water back on the floor and straightening his guitar on its strap over his shoulder. “It’s called ‘Cocoon’.”

Just like that, Allura hits the drums and the air is suddenly filled with vibrations; a building guitar that everyone knows will have to break eventually and release the song held within.

 

And Lance, two thirds back in that sweaty, smokey, muddy throng that smells like weed and cheap beer and strangers, instantly knows this was a mistake. He never should have come here. Not to this festival and definitely not to this act.

But Hunk’s favourite band are in the country to record an album and they’re only playing this one gig before they jet off across the sea again. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t go with him? It had nothing to do with  _ Castle of Lions _ . Nothing to do with Keith. And if Lance had maybe suggested they check them out while they waited for  _ Balmera _ to be on when he heard ‘Follow You’ blasting out of their arena, then it was pure coincidence. 

Lies. All lies. Because he knew  _ Castle  _ were going to be playing here. He knew  _ Follow You _ was their biggest hit. He knew Keith would be there, on that stage in his skinny jeans despite the heat, his black shirt clinging to his skin and piercings glinting in the sun. And he knew that no amount of lies would ever erase the images of dark hair fanned out over his pillow and burnt waffles in the morning. 

Because the truth was he’d just wanted to see him, just see him in the flesh one more time. And Lance knew that, too.

It’s too late for regret now, though, because he’s already here. Hunk’s bobbing along beside him to the beat, one of those clear plastic wineskins looped around his neck only, unlike most people’s, his is actually full of water.

“These guys are pretty good,” he says and Lance can only grimace out a smile because Hunk doesn’t know.

Hunk  _ can’t  _ know about that summer because he was volunteering in Nepal when Lance overheard some people he knew from class talking about a trip to LA,  packed his bags and went with them. Because Hunk wasn’t there and Pidge was off at some space camp for geniuses where they built rocket ships to Mars or some shit and his parents were fighting again and he’d just needed to get out of there for a while. So he left with some almost-friends to LA where, coincidentally,  _ Castle  _ had also recently moved and were living in practical poverty. All four members were working multiple jobs for rent money while grovelling for gigs all over town, with just one starving YouTube account that Allura kept whipping to get up again and carry them as their only hope of being ‘discovered’. 

And then he met Keith.

And then he left.

And then he had to put up with Pidge talking about her brother’s band and everything they were up to as if it never happened at all. Because it was just one crazy summer, right? He had to hear about them hitting it big through Pidge, too.

It’s all too late now. One fantastical dream. Because there is Lance, up to his ankles in mud and surrounded by water bottles full of piss because apparently the toilets are too far -- and then there is Keith, highlighted in fuschia stage lights, lip between his teeth in concentration, as 20,000 people scream his name.

Except, then the song hits the pre-chorus and Lance’s world tilts on its axis.

> _ I remember when we swapped names _
> 
> _ And I thought maybe _
> 
> _ You’d stay and try and outdrink me _
> 
> _ And your friends all hated it. _

All he can see is Keith’s smile that night they met in that stupid bar that his almost-friends had dragged him to. The one where people could smoke inside and the floor was sticky and the music sucked but was too loud to talk over. The one with the pretty stranger who smiled when Lance slammed his empty glass down and shouted, “Alright, it is on. Is that all you’ve got, Mullet?” 

And Naomi pulling him aside two hours later to whisper, “Look, Lance, I know you’re bi or whatever, and that’s cool, I’m fine with that, but this isn’t a gay bar so… maybe tone it back a bit, yeah?”

Lance, with all the wit of the truly plastered, had countered, “So, what? It’s a straight bar?” and she’d just given him a look that said, ‘well… yeah.’

It was that look that made Lance go home with Keith’s jacket and arm around his shoulders, mouth running 10,000 miles a minute as he told this practical stranger his life story.

“Holy shit…” he whispers.

“What was that?” Hunk shouts over Keith’s bass, leaning down a little but still bouncing in time to Allura’s drums. 

> _ Fuck it if they talk _

Shiro’s voice tumbles out over the crowd like a wave, it’s husky edge has screams in the air along with a few panties.

> _ Fuck it if they try and get to us. _
> 
> _ ‘Cause I’d rather go blind _
> 
> _ Than let you down. _

 

Keith in Lance’s bed in the Air BnB with the 3am air pouring in the open window with the traffic noise and the moon to caress his naked body as they both lay there and stared at the ceiling. It’d only been a week since they met, when Lance had tried to drag Keith into bed in some petty revenge and Keith valiantly fended him off, got him some water and tucked him under the covers, alone. But neither truly recognised that. Days seemed to melt into one another when they were just a mess of Keith and Lance, Lance and Keith. It might have been years or decades for all they cared. 

One of Lance’s hands was in Keith’s sweaty hair, slowly running through, teasing the knots out with his fingers, and one of Keith’s was on Lance’s calf, thumb rubbing back and forth listlessly.

“What am I doing?” Keith said softly, voice still half-broken.

“Hmmm?” Lance replied.

“Do you think I’m just wasting my time?”

Lance frowned. “With me?”

Keith moved then, rolling over so he could crawl up the bed and settle properly against Lance’s side. He put one hand on his jaw and tilted his head down to face him. “No, not with you. Never with you. You could never be a waste of anyone’s time.”

Lance sighed and placed a soft kiss against Keith’s forehead.

“I just feel,” said Keith, pressing his nose against Lance’s chest, “Like… what’s the point? I don’t want to be sixty and still working at Starbucks, playing in the early hours of the morning because that’s the only time I can, writing songs no one will ever hear, and still insisting I’m gonna be the next big thing. I don’t want to be  _ that  _ old guy, you know? The one who missed the train. So, maybe… I should just sell my ticket on Craigslist and go back to college. You know, something normal. Something safe.”

Lance slid his hand back into Keith’s hair, massaging his scalp and feeling the silky strands on the sensitive skin between his fingers as it slid through. He didn’t really have an answer for that.

“What do you want, Keith?” he said eventually.

“I just s--” 

“No, right now. What do you want right  _ now _ ? Music? College? Something safe? Because if you pick something you don’t want, you’ll still end up miserable. You won’t even get a chance to miss the train ‘cause you’ll already be on the wrong one.”

“I want,” said Keith, “I… I just want to play. I want to play all the time. All day. And the only way I can afford to do that is if I’m getting paid for it.”

“Well, there ya go. And I can be your hot bit of ass waiting backstage.”

Keith smothered his laugh in Lance’s chest.

“I’ll learn karate and protect you from the paps.” He cupped Keith’s face in his hands and extricated it from his chest to look him in the eye. “In all seriousness, babe, I have every faith in you. You can do this. If this is what you want, you’re going to get there. I know it. Because no one’s more of a stubborn ass than you.”

And Keith had smiled as he kissed him.

 

“Holy fucking shit,” says Lance again and his feet are moving against his will, starting forward towards the stage.

“Lance?” says Hunk but Lance is already pushing through the crowd.

The music is building. This is a really bad idea but Lance isn’t thinking. He can’t stop walking. He’s ignoring the dirty looks and shoves and curses of the people he pushes passed. He’s ignoring the knowledge that this is really a conversation better left for private. All he can see is Keith -- in that bar where they met, hunched over his drink with his head resting on the counter, uncaring how clean it might be, seconds before Lance sauntered over and slid onto the stool beside him; asleep in his bed late at night when the frown finally melts off his face; in the kitchen in the morning, in just his underwear, swearing at the stove because it won’t work like he wants it to -- on that stage right in front of him, head down, bobbing to the beat, scratched up and beloved bass in his hands, lost to the music and fucking  _ glowing  _ in the afternoon sun.

Because this song is about Lance.

> _ And if you wanna shut down and pose as positive _

It’s about Lance.

> _ And hide smoking from relatives and rest on me _

He wrote a fucking song about Lance.

> _ Honey, that’s alright. _

The same guy who didn’t blink an eye when Lance said he had to go back to New York --

> _ And if you wanna act more drunk than usual _

The same guy who ignored Lance’s facebook friend request for months and then quietly refused it --

> _ To help you get away with more, then rest on me. _

That guy wrote a mother fucking song about Lance.

> _ Honey, that’s alright. _

Lance is at the fence now and he can see a burly security guard hastening his way. It’s a race between the security guard and Lance to get over that fence and up onto that stage. Keith’s voice has dropped out of the backing vocals of the final chorus because Lance is halfway over the fence and unmissable. The bass drops out too and Shiro opens his eyes to send a confused look back at his brother only to find Keith standing there like someone’s just slapped him. Someone  _ is  _ about to slap him because Lance has his hands on the stage. The security guard isn’t going to make it. Matt’s still desperately forcing out the guitar riff and the sweat’s running down Allura’s face in streams as she belts out the last few beats and then -- Keith’s voice, cracked and confused, captured by his mic and broadcast out over the crowd.

“Lance?”

And Lance’s rage careens to a stop just as he does, right in front of the bassist. Hunk is probably losing his shit back there. What was he even planning to say?

What if he was wrong and it was never about him at all?

The song ends. It’s silent except for that warbling guitar as it dies away.

“I didn’t,” says Keith in the silence. It echoes out the speakers and he scrunches up his face for a second, glances over Lance’s shoulder, and pushes the mic stand over so static echoes out instead. “I didn’t think you’d…” he tries again with only marginally more success.

“Yeah,” says Lance. He can feel Shiro’s eyes on him, which is stupid because there must be more than 20,000 pairs of eyes on him right now. “Am I right?” he blurts out finally.

Keith looks at him for a long moment, familiar frown on his face.

“Yeah,” he sighs at last and he didn't even have to ask. Keith’s always got him. It was  _ Lance  _ who could never understand  _ Keith _ . “Yeah, you’re right.”

“It’s an old song,” says Lance. 

“I wanted it for myself,” Keith replies, throat audibly tight.

Lance laughs. “Even though it’s about not giving a shit what other people think?”

And Keith finally loosens a little. A fragile smile slips onto his face and he shrugs. “Eh… Do what I say, not what I do.”

“And now?”

Keith tenses right back up again. He looks to Shiro who’s looking awkwardly between them and the crowd. He looks to Allura who’s fiddling with her drumsticks. He looks to Matt who’s started picking a little melody out on his guitar in a futile attempt to distract everyone. Finally he looks to Lance and swallows.

“I… mean… Fuck, Lance, what do you think?”

“I know what I’d like. But it’s an old song -- or, at least, you wrote it years ago. You might have felt differently then.”

“It’s yours.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean: the song, this fucking stage, all of it. It’s yours because I… wouldn’t… Forget music, I’m not entirely sure I’d still be alive if I hadn’t met you.

Matt’s definitely blushing with second-hand embarrassment at this point and he stumbles a little in his improvised riff.

Lance smiles, though. He’s almost forgotten there is anyone behind him at all.

“Does that mean I get a kiss?” he says with a smirk.

Keith practically trips over his own amp cord as he leaps forward. “Fuck yes. Come here.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then the crowd, despite not having heard most of the conversation, cheers like their lives depend on it. Matt is a little annoyed, the next day, when it turns out the band's first appearance in a tabloid is because Lance stole the show.
> 
> [My writing tumblr](https://thecowardlycreative.tumblr.com/)  
> [This post](https://thecowardlycreative.tumblr.com/post/173322134769/cocoon-oceanmelon-voltron-legendary-defender) (come reblog it for me *wink wink nudge nudge*)  
> [Voltron sideblog](https://vlddump.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And, don’t forget, if you like what I do you can always [buy me a kofi?](https://ko-fi.com/U7U2GBKM)


End file.
